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 broken eye will sweep 'em off their feet. Now absorb for the last time. I managed to promise the Big Brown Father that this ticker, he calls it the magic box, would tell each day how much their furniture is worth. It was a big gamble, but I told it and yet live. I talked into the cage and it gave him presents. With foolish fondness he thinks some jovial little god sits in there aching to deal him more. When they see the tape and recognize the pictures they'll mortgage the old home and bet their grandparents on what's coming next. I make under each stock a certain number of straight marks. They can't count over twenty, and their unit of value is the sweet-smelling turtle-shell. I've explained to 'em in my exclusive patois, reinforced by Wogo's nervous tongue, that the tape, the magic ribbon, is about to tell 'em to-day what their stuff is worth. See, I put ten marks under your pup, which means he is worth that number of turtle-shells. D'ye suppose they can resist betting against the morrow's quotations? Hark! They're sweeping onto the floor of the market. I'll add the baseball scores in another week, if we're alive.'

"And bless you, sir! What does that old rascal do but prance to the door with the parrot-cage under his arm. And the style of him, as he puffed out his cheeks and brushed back the too-curious, would have done you a world of good. His aplomb